Hey there world!
Thank you to all that commented on my last blog post. Immensely appreciated. Now, I respond to everyone that has taken the time to message me, as quickly as possible. There is a ‘but’ coming up however, to Roz, and the other groovy movers that have been leaving me the most fantastic messages via the ‘Feedback’ section on my ‘About’ page (specific to this blog space), I am unable to respond as there is no ‘reply’ function/key/tab available in that area, from my end. My sincerest apologies for this. The best means of communication with me is via the ‘Comments’ section beneath each post I make.
To answer the most commonly themed question that has been asked of me “I was just wondering if you were alright?”, the short answer is yes. The bigger picture is slightly more involved, but, I haven’t had a stint in hospital since May this year, and everything seems to be on track.
So, that said, my sincerest apologies once more for the communication breakdown, and you are all the very best.
Now, in 2013 I wrote this as part my “Ten Minute Tale” writing exercises. ‘I tell myself’ was the theme placed upon me by Pat Fiege, and I had to come up with, and pen a story within ten minutes of me receiving it from him. The result you will find below, sadly I have no recollection of actually penning it.
“Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Head in hands seated at the local pub. The stained wooden bar top incapable of anything more than returning his stare.
Forty, fat, broken, and no longer of use to anyone.
Bloody ‘if only’ he thought. I would have been better off never meeting and marrying it. Twenty three and went off and married to a woman that had no right to wear white down a matrimonial aisle.
“Bloody ‘if only’ I had gone through with Medicine at Newcastle Uni, as soon as I was accepted in late 1995.
Bloody ‘if only’ she had of actually slapped me around the ear and told me I was waiting until I was thirty, instead of politely telling me it wouldn’t happen until we were 30, and then marrying her. Degree would have been complete; I would have been far better off to put a ring on her finger.
Bloody ‘if only’ the warzone I found myself stuck inside hadn’t been the place I inhabited for a year. ‘If only’ I hadn’t gone there my head would be right and I wouldn’t have decided against Medicine.
Bloody ‘if only’ the bloody old man hadn’t sold up forcing me into such a profession. That bloody life I love but cannot live.
Bloody love. Bloody love. ‘If only’ I had of got the head and heart to work as one. Not as bloody opposing forces.
Bloody life. ‘If only’ I wasn’t broken. ‘If only’ I had of followed the heart properly. ‘If only’ I didn’t live in this shit hole town. ‘If only’ the life I missed.
“If only you would shut the hell up!” As a barmaid she was brilliant. Being Irish only proved to strengthen her position. “You’re pissed, and after that rant, you’re cut off. Get the hell out of the pub ya wanker, and cry yourself ter sleep at home or some gutter. Tosser!”
He stood, leaving a half-finished pint behind him, and stumbled through the door. Two or three minutes later, the muffled rifle crack eliciting from the lowered front window of his old car, was heard by no one at all. The juke box covered that.
Story 6/10, word count – 378; time – 12.02
So there you go. Click the top picture, or else!
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